


the bright in black

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre kills with his hands. Courfeyrac enjoys watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the bright in black

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [AU prompt meme](http://kiyala.tumblr.com/post/96342034971) I'm doing on tumblr for #7. partners in murder

Combeferre kills patiently, kindly, each movement carefully and precisely planned out. There's no point in trying to escape, most don't even try, don't even realise how close they are to the end of their life. 

Combeferre's victims believe that he is going to help them, that he's going to make everything alright. They're afraid of him, but not in the way they're afraid of Enjolras, who is more of a vengeful god, more force of nature than man, unseen but ever-present. They don't even fear Combeferre the same way they fear Courfeyrac, who stands a few paces behind him, playing with his favourite knife, the one with the blue and gold handle. It had been a present from Combeferre and Courfeyrac doesn't kill with it as often as he plays with it, or threatens with it. If he keeps the focus on himself, they won't pay as much attention to Combeferre. They'll be too afraid to realise that Combeferre's idle questioning is making them spill all the secrets that he wants from them. They won't realise until they've given all that they have, until there's nothing more that they can give and nothing more that Combeferre wants. 

The man that Combeferre currently has tied to a chair is trembling, his gaze fixed on Courfeyrac, on Courfeyrac's knife. He startles when Combeferre touches his shoulder. Courfeyrac's hands go still and he tucks his knife away, waiting. He loves Combeferre's hands, loves how gentle they are, even when they're taking life. It's the last thing any of his victims feel and Courfeyrac can't imagine a more pleasant way to go. He knows what it's like to die at those hands, has endured little deaths at Combeferre's hands more times than he can count, knows that those are the moments he feels most alive. 

"You've done incredibly well," Combeferre tells the man, hand moving from his shoulder to rest on his neck, almost a carress. "Thank you, Julien."

Julien smiles shakily. "Will you let me go now? I don't need to see Enjolras?"

"No, you definitely don't need to see Enjolras," Combeferre reassures him. He leans over so that he's eye to eye with Julien, hands resting on either side of his face. "We're done here."

His thumbs stroke against Julien's skin and it's an action meant for Courfeyrac's benefit, not for Julien's comfort. Courfeyrac shifts his weight from one leg to the other, folding his arms across his chest as he watches intently, listens to Combeferre's soft voice, as if he's gentling a spooked animal. 

"…You're going to kill me," Julien realises faintly and he looks betrayed. Combeferre's only reply is a smile.

The snap of Julien's neck is loud in the small room. Courfeyrac only just realises he's been holding his breath and it comes rushing out of him in a soft moan that makes Combeferre turn around, eyes darkening with desire. Courfeyrac knows from experience that there's nothing more that either of them would like to do right now than cross the small space between them, to crash their lips together, to let the rest of the world fade away. It needs to wait. They still have work to do.

Julien's body is slumped in the chair. Combeferre pulls the recorder out of his pocket and turns it off, tossing it to Courfeyrac. With both Combeferre and Courfeyrac present, it's unlikely that they'll have missed any information that Julien has given, but Combeferre has always been one for back-up plans. Courfeyrac pockets the recorder and waits for Combeferre to undo the ropes tying Julien's body to the chair before helping him lift the body.

They've disposed of countless bodies together and this is no different to the rest. They're efficient together, not needing words as they move in tandem, taking care to destroy any evidence that might lead back to them, to Enjolras, or any of them. 

They turn to each other once they're done, hesitating. Enjolras will be waiting for the information, but Enjolras can wait a little longer. He might not understand, exactly, but this is something between Combeferre and Courfeyrac and he's come to accept that. 

Courfeyrac is the one who makes the decision, stepping forward, pulling Combeferre down into a hard kiss. "Let's go home."

Combeferre hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around Courfeyrac's waist to give him a slow, lingering kiss before letting go. He takes Courfeyrac's hand into his and doesn't let go until they're home, the door locked behind them, their weapons pulled out of their hiding places, left on the coffee table with their keys and wallets. 

In three long strides, Combeferre has Courfeyrac backed up against the wall of their lounge room, a hand resting gently around his throat as they kiss. Courfeyrac is helpless to suppress the moan it draws from him. He trusts Combeferre, who kills with these same, gentle hands, who could snap his neck now just as easily as he did before, but won't. He trusts Combefere with his life, his heart, with everything he has, and Combeferre has never faltered, never will, and simply trusts Courfeyrac just as much in return.

Combeferre smiles into their kiss, his lips a small, satisfied curve. He knows just how much Courfeyrac loves his hands. With the hand that's not around Courfeyrac's throat, Combeferre trails his way down to Courfeyrac's pants, untucking his shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin, before slowly undoing his fly.

Courfeyrac is already hard, squirming as Combeferre teases him with light strokes through his underwear. His fingers trace circles over the head of Courfeyrac's cock and Combeferre might be patient when they're working, but he's not patient here. He tugs Courfeyrac's pants down, letting them fall to the floor, and pulls his underwear down to his thighs. His fingers are firm around Courfeyrac's cock when they stroke, until Courfeyrac's breath hitches, the friction just the wrong side of painful. Combeferre stops immediately, despite Courfeyrac's whine.

"Stay here," Combeferre murmurs, giving Courfeyrac's throat a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Mm?"

"Yeah," Courfeyrac breathes, and doesn't move. Combeferre doesn't move far, only to the couch, where he reaches between the cushions for the bottle of lube they have there. He returns, drizzling the cool liquid over Courfeyrac's cock, making him arch at the sensation, head pressed against the wall. " _Yeah_."

Combeferre closes the bottle, lets it fall to the floor, and crowds against Courfeyrac, stroking him faster this time, twisting his wrist and swallowing every small gasp in a kiss. Courfeyrac pants against Combeferre's mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders. Combeferre kisses along Courfeyrac's jaw, to his ear, nipping the lobe. Combeferre's breaths are coming in soft pants as well and Courfeyrac knows that it's because of _him_. He's doing this to Combeferre and it never ceases to amaze him.

"Do you have any idea of how wonderful you looked," Combeferre murmurs into his ear, "just standing there and playing with that knife while I questioned Julien? So effortlessly beautiful, so dangerous, with my knife in your hands."

"You love knowing that I'm yours," Courfeyrac gasps, hips jerking. He's so close to coming he can barely think. Combeferre must know, because his hand is back around Courfeyrac's throat, a comforting pressure.

"Mine," Combeferre tells him, and that's all Courfeyrac needs, coming with a soft moan.

Waiting until his breath is even again, Courfeyrac turns them around so that Combeferre has his back to the wall. He grabs some tissues from the table to cursorily wipe them off before sinking to his knees, pulling his underwear down so he can kneel properly.

Combeferre is already scrambling to get his pants down and Courfeyrac swats his hands aside with a smile, taking care of it himself. He pulls Combeferre's cock out, kissing the head of it, rubbing his tongue against it for the way it makes Combeferre gasp. Courfeyrac swallows him down, little by little, until he's taken the entire length, Combeferre's fingers twisting in his hair, not tugging hard enough to hurt but just enough to speak volumes about how much he wants this. He's not in the mood to be gentle about this tonight, he wants to make Combeferre mindless with pleasure, wants to make it impossible for him to bite back his moans. With Combeferre already so worked up, he doubts that it's going to be very difficult.

He pulls back, only to slide his lips back down the length again, over and over in an even rhythm, running his tongue along the underside of Combeferre's cock. He rests one hand on Combeferre's hip to steady himself, using the other to stroke Combeferre's balls, rubbing his index over his perenium. 

Combeferre gasps for Courfeyrac, fingers tightening in his hair. Courfeyrac does it again, swallowing Combeferre all the way back down again and this time, he moans brokenly, legs trembling. Courfeyrac pulls off Combeferre's cock entirely, licking his lips and looking up. Combeferre watches him, chest heaving as he pants.

"You want to fuck my mouth," Courfeyrac murmurs, as he strokes Combeferre. He presses a kiss to the length and looks up through his eyelashes. "Don't you, gorgeous?"

Combeferre bites his lip and nods. The man above him is worlds away from the calm, controlled killer he was not even an hour ago and Courfeyrac loves that he's the only person in the world who can bring this side out of him, who even knows it exists. It belongs to him exclusively and he's incredibly possessive but then they both are, so perhaps it doesn't matter.

"Do it," Courfeyrac tells him, taking Combeferre's hands into his own, guiding them to where they'll have a better grip. He wraps his lips around Combeferre's cock again, waiting.

The first few thrusts are gentle, allowing them both to adjust before Combeferre picks up his pace. They're measured to begin with but the closer Combeferre is to coming, the more erratic they become, until he pulls Courfeyrac off his cock entirely, wrapping a hand around the base of it.

"Come for me," Courfeyrac breathes, stroking Combeferre's cock, gripping his leg so tightly that he's certain his fingers are going to leave marks behind. "Come on, let me hear you."

" _Courfeyrac_." Combeferre's moan is rough, broken as he comes into Courfeyrac's hand, hips jerking with the aftershocks until there's nothing left.

Courfeyrac sighs happily, grabbing more tissues before he returns to Combeferre. Combeferre smiles fondly, pulling Courfeyrac into his arms so they can kiss languidly, tongues warm against each other. 

"Shower?" Courfeyrac suggests, because they _do_ still need to go to see Enjolras.

"Yeah," Combeferre agrees, but makes no attempt to move. Courfeyrac doesn't mind, pressing his face into the crook of Combeferre's neck and kissing the warm skin there. Enjolras and the rest of the world can wait just a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from OneRepublic's Love Runs Out


End file.
